


Practically Magic

by IrishWitch58



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M, Movie Night, Sharing a Bed, Snowed In, Tequila
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-23 05:01:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20002729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrishWitch58/pseuds/IrishWitch58
Summary: This is a response to a prompt #15, "This is my tequila. You can go and get your own." It's also my variation on the only one bed trope with a side of pining and snowed in and a dash of shared body heat.





	Practically Magic

**Author's Note:**

> I just had hand surgery yesterday. Any and all gaffs are the fault of medication.

The brief was actually quite simple. Q had to attend a tech conference. He would be operating under his usual civilian cover for such things. He could interact with other information and tech developers and get some idea of what new technology he might have to find solutions for. He enjoyed these excursions. He claimed it refreshed his imagination and made him more productive. But since he was, arguably, Britain's most valuable resource and, since at least a few of the other attendees might be his opposite numbers for other nations, he had to have security. Moneypenny and Bond were detailed to accompany him as driver and bodyguard respectively. 

The conference was in Denver. The three arrived at Heathrow and Bond watched as Q settled into the first class lounge in a comfortable chair and tucked a pair of headphones in. He closed his eyes and bobbed his head occasionally. When the flight was announced, he moved with Bond and Moneypenny to their seats and belted in. Intrigued, Bond raised an eyebrow at the man. Q removed one ear piece. “I don't like flying all that much, but I have learned ways to tolerate it since it's necessary at times. You have alcohol,” he nodded pointedly at the glass of scotch in Bond's hand, “and I have my meditation recordings.” With that, he replaced the ear piece and closed his eyes. During the flight he ate little of the meal, drank water, and kept his headphones on. Eve appeared to be deep into whatever she was reading in the aisle seat opposite. 

Bond was left with little to occupy his mind. People watching was always worthwhile. It could be entertaining or it might save your life. He amused himself by examining the other first class passengers. The couple behind Moneypenny were a middle aged man and a younger woman. He was fit in the way someone with a personal trainer was. He was dressed in casual clothes that might have been trendy on a twenty year old but looked out of place on him. The woman was blond, likely dyed, and wearing designer everything and had an enormous diamond on her left hand. Their conversation revealed he was a banker returning from a visit with a potential merger acquisition in London. A survey of the seats behind himself and Q when he returned from the lavatory showed a pair of young women. Both were dressed in casual comfortable style, and were sharing a set of headphones, giggling quietly and holding hands. Bond thought they were lovely. Ten years ago he might have contemplated picking up one or the other after the flight, possibly both. Now the idea was distasteful. They were obviously together and didn't need an intrusion. The only other first class passenger was a man of about Bond's age, wearing denim and leather and tapping away at a laptop, occasionally referencing a notebook on the empty seat next to him. He made a sudden connection, realizing the man was a fairly famous actor in action films rumored to be in contention for some new multi-million dollar spectacle. He had been all over the morning news shows for a week. The passengers having been cataloged, Bond eyed the flight attendants. The one in charge was a grandmotherly woman with hair in a chignon and starfish earrings. She spent a lot of time in the economy section since the crew there seemed new. The first class attendant was a young man, slim and dark haired and attentive without being overwhelming. Bond spent a lot of time following him with his eyes. He moved well, but most flight attendants did. Bond took a glance to one side where Q was curled up in the seat, socked feet tucked under a small blanket, eyeglasses hooked in the seat pocket. There was the real problem. Q during a mission, in his ear, was out of reach. Q, in his office, surrounded by his branch, was out of reach. And here, in the next seat, vulnerable and finally relaxed, he was more out of reach than ever. 

Like many of the 00's Bond was functionally pansexual. One couldn't be finicky about personal choices in the field. His colleagues might have been surprised to discover that his personal choices were also variable. And Q was decidedly to his taste, physically lovely, intellectually brilliant, and emotionally mercurial. Bond had watched the man verbally eviscerate a functionary from accounting who had eliminated an item in Q's budget that was part of a plan for more prompt medical evacs for injured agents. It frankly made Bond hard to watch the performance. Q was confident in his skin, personally and professionally and that was always a turn on. Sadly, it was more than that. Bond had a feeling that if he just lusted after his Quartermaster, he might have made a proposition and been unconcerned with the response. A yes would be fun and a no, well he hadn't lived to his age without accepting a polite refusal occasionally. He wished it were that simple. Even a yes and a casual encounter would have been unsatisfying. He had, despite all the rumors that swore he had none, lost his heart to Q and had no way of ascertaining if the man would actually want it.

The arrival was delayed twice. Q determinedly did not look out the window at the increasingly poor weather. Flying was enough of a trial apparently. Bond had a sudden impulse to offer a hand to grab when the descent finally began and Q gripped the seat arm with white knuckled ferocity and a look of grim determination on his face. He restrained the urge and made sure to stay seated, letting Q calm himself a bit before they had to leave the plane. Bond took Q to see to the luggage and Eve went in search of their reserved rental car. The snow was falling steadily, obscuring the roads and challenging the traction on the oversize SUV. The swirling curtain of white offered glimpses of lights and signs. Q, in the rear seat, abruptly pointed a finger and slapped the back of Bond's seat. “What the bloody hell is that?”

Bond followed the direction of the finger and saw two bright red lights and a shadowy blue figure. Eve kept driving but contributed the answer. “It's a statue of a horse. It's pretty freaky looking even in daylight. I heard someone in the car rental office talking about it.”

Q tapped away at his tablet, apparently researching the horse. “Locals say it's cursed. The sculptor died when a piece fell on him.” He shifted restlessly for a bit. “How far to the hotel?”

“Another 15 Km or so. It's the Hyatt. Supposed to be well rated.” Eve had a solid grip on the wheel and was watching the wipers slap ineffectually at the snow that accumulated as fast as it could be swept away. There was enough traffic and she followed the tracks of the vehicles in front. They began seeing signs for the convention center and a lucky gust cleared the snow for a brief moment allowing Bond to see the sign for the hotel. 

“Next exit, Moneypenny,” he said, indicating the sign. 

“That seems a bit soon,” she said dubiously but there was the sign so she took the exit with a easy slow right. The signs at the bottom of the ramp indicated several restaurants, an equal number of gas stations and hotels. The Hyatt was to the right and Eve put the vehicle dead center in the only plowed section of the access road and fought the poor visibility and the worse road condition and finally made the turn into the hotel lot, pulling as close as possible to the lobby entrance which cast a welcoming glow over the snowy landscape. They shared out the luggage and hurried for the door, snow drifting up to their knees.

Q and Moneypenny collapsed in chairs in the lobby and Bond advanced to the desk. The cheerful young man behind the counter stepped up and greeted him. “Welcome to the Hyatt Place. May I help you?”

“Yes, we have reservations.” Bond produced the printed itinerary and waited with an elbow on the counter. He scanned the lobby, deserted except for two people, a man and woman, in the far corner and Moneypenny and Q, closer to the desk. The clerk returned in a few minutes. He handed back the paper and shook his head.

“I'm so sorry, sir, but we don't have that reservation. It's for our other facility.” Bond was not going to give up that easily. He leaned a little closer and the clerk nervously offered, “I may be able to accommodate your party here.” He typed a few lines into the computer and stepped to one side as the printer spit out a page. “I have a suite and a single room left, both on the same floor, if that would be acceptable?” Bond nodded, handed over the corporate card they were using and, in a few moments, had two key cards and a receipt with the room numbers.

Bond strode back over to the seating area where Q and Eve were sprawled over the tub chairs, looking as if they planned on growing roots. “This is the wrong hotel,” Bond began. There were matched groans from his companions. “The good news is, it doesn't matter since I got rooms here. I think Moneypenny should have the single. We can share the suite if that's all right with you, Q?” Since everyone was tired and nobody had any wish to get back on the road and get to the other Hyatt, the luggage was transferred to a cart and all three followed the bellman to the lift. 

The rooms were on the top floor, not that there was much of a view with an early dark and the continuing blizzard. They deposited the luggage in their respective rooms, Bond having the bellman just leave his and Q's things in the living room of the suite. Q set up his security and contacted Q branch to check in. Eve had settled on the small sofa and was flipping through channels on the TV. Bond evaluated options for food, determining room service to be the best, if not the only, option. He was scanning the menu when there was an ear splitting shriek from Eve. “Q! Look what's on!”

Q glanced up then focused with laser intensity on the screen of the huge TV. Apropos of nothing Bond could see, he shouted “Midnight margaritas!” and ran over to embrace Moneypenny before looking over his shoulder at Bond. “Order a bottle of tequila and whatever you want for yourself. Oh, don't forget the limes.”

Bond had missed something. Q made a shooing motion with one hand. “Hurry, it's on in an hour.” When Bond shook his head in utter bewilderment Q elaborated. “Practical Magic is coming on in an hour but we absolutely must have tequila to go with.” Eve was nodding in agreement. 

“Why?” was all Bond could come up with.

Eve answered. “Because it's a tradition of Q's and mine. We love the movie and tequila goes with it.”

Bond shrugged and picked up the room phone and began to order. Eve disappeared to her own room and returned wearing MI6 issue sweats and a pair of ridiculously fluffy purple slippers. She and Q arranged most of the furniture cushions on the floor and pulled the coffee table in front of their pillow throne. When the food arrived, Bond just settled in the remaining chair, completely at a loss but oddly entranced at what was obviously a long standing ritual, Q and Eve like siblings at a sleep over. Bond had ordered a moderately decent scotch and sipped it sparingly as he ate. When the movie began to play, the pair opened the bottle and toasted each other and promptly became completely engrossed. Bond wasn't sure what the attraction was. He had never seen the film. Eve and Q must have seen it many times. They recited bits of the dialog. When Bond tried to ask a question, he was soundly shushed. Certain plot points appeared to require shots, including a memorable one where the two sisters raised the dead boyfriend and promptly killed him again. The midnight margaritas reference became apparent, calling for more shots and singing along with the actors. The more the two drank, the more entertained they were. Truthfully, Bond was just as entertained. Q in a state of playful inebriation was a joy to watch. 

Eventually, the final credits rolled. Eve got to her feet, just a trifle unsteady. Bond walked her out to the corridor and made sure she was safely in her room. He returned to the suite and began to consider what to do with a drunken quartermaster. Q was staring at the now blank TV screen and gripping the depleted tequila bottle. Bond approached and crouched in front of him. “I think you might need to get some sleep. Let me help you up.” He reached for the bottle and Q gave him a lopsided glare and turned away. Bond made another effort and Q turned further away, presenting Bond with his back. “Please give me the bottle, Q,” Bond said very reasonably.

Q only clutched his prize tighter and said, in halting and mildly slurred dignity, “No. This is my tequila. You can get your own.” The defiance lacked conviction somehow when it was punctuated with a hiccough and an enormous yawn. Not wanting to be too rough, it took a bit of time for Bond to wrest the bottle from Q's grasp, even if Q wasn't coordinated enough to put up any real resistance. And he pouted outrageously when the bottle was finally removed. He was eventually persuaded to get up, or at least attempt to, and immediately pitched forward. Of course, Bond caught him and then had to hang on to prevent him from tipping backwards. 

Q looked up at him with the owlish stare of the truly inebriated and then began giggling. “Your eyes are very blue," he declared. “It really isn't fair you're so bloody gorgeous you know.”

Bond smiled fondly. “You do realize you're very drunk?”

Q gave an enthusiastic nod. “Yes I am. It's probably the only reason I can manage to say you're gorgeous.” He spoke with exaggerated care and emphasized his point with a wavering forefinger that eventually ended up poking at Bond's chest.

Bond finally got Q moving in the direction of the bedroom, keeping a grip on the loose limbed body and an even tighter one on his own libido. Q was a bloody temptation all the time but like this he was a lure that challenged all of Bond's will power. His glasses were tilted, his eyes sleepy and a bit vague, his mouth relaxed and inviting. Bond had a brief moment when he wished he was as unprincipled as some people thought he was. But taking advantage was not something he was willing to do. “Come on, Q. I think it's best you get some sleep.” He shuffled them both along, Q's socked feet dragging on the carpet. 

They reached the door to the bedroom and Bond propped Q against the wall while opening it. He flicked on the light and groaned. There was only one bed. A huge king sized expanse of mattress with piles of pillows and a chocolate brown duvet. He hadn't even thought about the actual sleeping arrangements beyond making sure Moneypenny had the privacy of her own room. Now he was faced with a drunk, smiling, very pliant Q and this single enormous bed. 

Fuck this conference, fuck Denver, fuck blizzards, fuck missed exits and mixed up hotels. And fuck the idiot who put only one bed in a suite. Sighing Bond maneuvered Q to the bed and let him drop to the mattress. He wondered if the pile of cushions in the living room might be the better option. He began to work on getting some of Q's clothing off. He rather thought that waking up hung over would be made worse if the man woke up in travel creased clothes. Accordingly, he began to unfasten buttons. He was hardly aided by the way Q's fingers were making forays on his own clothes, uncoordinated but quite determined. Bond had to alternate between working at Q's clothes and gently removing the inquisitive fingers from his own. Finally managing to get about half the shirt buttons undone, Bond deposited Q's glasses on the bedside table and lifted shirt and cardigan off over his head, Q squirming the entire time. That proved a tactical error. As soon as Bond raised his arms to remove the shirt, Q's hands took advantage, slipping under the untucked hem of Bond's shirt and gliding upward. Bond gave a convulsive shudder. He was a very bad person, he decided. He stood still and allowed the gentle forays. It felt so damned good and surely he couldn't be faulted for standing still and absorbing the moment, committing it to memory. Wanting to do anything else, he grasped Q by the arms and eased backwards. Trying another tack, he turned the slender figure to place his back to Bond's chest and held both wrists in one hand. He used the other to work at the trouser fastenings. Giving them a slight tug to let them fall to Q's ankles. Bond gave a smile. Q was wearing briefs with the planets on them. Truthfully, Bond had known Q would favor the whimsical so long as it didn't interfere with the image he had to project at MI6. Bond halted an effort on Q's part to remove the pants and pulled back the duvet. He gave a little push and Q got a knee up on the mattress and somehow had the corner pulled over and himself wrapped up in it, appearing to fall very quickly asleep.

Bond sat on the edge of the mattress, stroked the tangle of hair back from Q's face, and smiled. At rest the mercurial featured were angelic after the fashion of a classical sculpture. His fingers lingered over the warm skin and he risked leaning over to place a kiss on the pale forehead. Rising reluctantly, he went about the tasks that needed to be done. He opened the luggage and hung up his suits. He folded Q's discarded clothes and hunted up some paracetamol and placed it at the bedside with a bottle of water from the mini bar. He collected clean sweats from his luggage and retreated to the bathroom, The shower had wonderful water pressure and he washed away the tension of travel. He was looking froward to a comfortable sleep and then recalled who else was in the bed. And his cock decided, idiot that it was, that this was a fine prospect. And as guilty as he felt about it, he ended up wanking in the shower to thoughts of Q, wondering how sweet his mouth would taste and what he had under those pants. He soaped and rinsed again when he had finished. He dried off and slipped the sweats on and stood next to the bed. The only light was from the living room, dimly reaching across the carpet. Bond stepped to the window and pulled one of the drapes back a bit. The huge lamps in the parking lot below cast just a general hazy glow through snow still falling heavily. He saw no traffic on the highway, and the only sound was the cycling of the heater in the room and Q's slightly nasal breathing. Careful not to jostle the sleeper, Bond lifted the duvet on the far side of the bed and slid in. The bed was warm and the mattress not too soft. He found himself drifting, his last thoughts of whether they might be stuck here for some time. 

Something woke Bond. Not a noise, but an absence of noise. And it was pitch dark, no light from the living room, even the hotel provided alarm clock was dark. He reached for the phone. It took several rings for the desk to pick up. The voice on the other end was apologetic. “So sorry for the inconvenience, sir. The storm has damaged some power lines. Maintenance are powering up the generators but it may take a little time for things to warm back up.” When he hung up, Bond realized the room was chilly. He reached across to check on Q who was drawn up in a ball. The skin of his back shivered when Bond touched him and a second later he rolled over and attached himself to Bond, burying his nose against Bond's chest and wrapping arms and legs around him. 

“Q? Are you awake?” Bond asked, rubbing his nose back and forth against the fall of hair that was tickling him. Even with the tequila still evident, Q smelt wonderful. 

Q muttered something unintelligible and tightened his grip for a bit. As he apparently began to warm up, he went boneless. Resigned, Bond pulled the blankest tighter around them, securing them in a bubble of warmth. He didn't intend to go to sleep again. But the road to hell and all that...

It was still dark but the digital clock was blinking 12:00 in bright red lights and the living room lamp was back on. The room was warmer and Q was still snuggled up close, making their blanket nest a bit sweaty. Bond realized a couple of things fairly quickly. The first was that he had a raging erection that was poking at Q's stomach. The second was that Q was nuzzling at his collar bone with moist huffing breaths while his agile fingers were flexing against Bond's ribs. The third was that Q was rubbing his own rather insistent erection against any portion of Bond he could reach with slow undulations of his hips, each contact eliciting more soft sighs and groans. Being responsible was painful. Bond rubbed at one bony shoulder and whispered, “Q, wake up.”

He was shocked when Q's voice answered quite clearly, “I'm already awake, hung over and horny. I can deal with the hang over later. Right now, I'd rather deal with this.” He punctuated the statement with a shove that pushed an astonished Bond over on his back and left Q on top of him, “If you have an objection, please say so now. Just so we're clear, I intend us to make a mess of each other. I am tired of waiting for you to overcome your caution and make a move.” He paused and went quite still, looking down and Bond realized he was waiting for permission. “Am I wrong?” Q continued. He made a move to push up with his hands, a prelude to moving away. 

Bond ventured to wrap his arms around Q. “You're not wrong. I must be getting old if I'm that transparent.”

Q smirked a bit, surer now. He reached a hand down under the sweats to slide light fingered over Bond's erection. “That doesn't seem old to me.”

“Watch your manners, pup,” Bond replied and grasped the questing hand and pressing it to his own firm flesh, groaning at the bliss of the contact. 

Q bared his teeth and squeezed just short of uncomfortable and Bond bucked into the grip reflexively. The kiss that followed was a battle of tongues and teeth, shifting back and forth between soft gliding explorations and teasing nips and all orchestrated with groans and sighs. Bond eventually left Q's mouth and trailed his lips down the column of his throat, nibbling and sucking and taking Q's squirms and whimpers as a reward. The responsiveness was addictive and Bond was more firmly caught up with every taste of the man. He wriggled impatiently, moving away to slide the sweats out of the way and moving quickly to grasp the waistband of Q's pants. He renewed the kiss, gentling it, and was finally able to touch silken skin and the wet heat of Q's arousal. He moved to settle Q on his back and felt the moment Q realized what he was about. He wriggled his back against the sheets and grabbed the back of Bond's head as began to kiss his way down. He made forays to small pale nipples that hardened quickly under the attention of Bond's mouth. Q's belly quivered when Bond gripped his narrow hips and slid his tongue down, tracing the trail of dark hair and pausing to breath over the firm flesh at the end of the path. Q gave a soft cry and strained upward. “James, please,” his voice eloquent of desperation. It would have taken much more willpower than Bond possessed to drag things out further. He inhaled deeply and circled his tongue around the head of Q's cock, keeping a firm grip on his hips to control the frantic movements. He sucked gently and then with more purpose, sliding down to swallow as much of the firm flesh as he could, the taste sharp on his tongue. The muscles under his hands tensed and Q let out a series of whimpering cries and flooded Bond's mouth with heat, Bond slid back up the bed, wrapping Q's hand around his own hard cock and sliding it up and down in the rhythm he knew would get him off easily. Q cracked his eyes open and watched rapt as Bond fisted his erection with both their hands, the leaking moisture making the movement easy. It didn't take long, Bond groaning and spilling and easing down next to Q. 

Q gave a muffled moan and put a hand to his head. “As much as I enjoyed that, I think I may have had too much tequila last night.” 

Bond reached for the water and pills on the nightstand. “Take this and rest a bit. It's early.” He slipped out of the bed and returned with a warm towel and cleaned up the mess. He tossed the towel on the floor and returned to the bed, smiling when Q curled into him and settled his no doubt aching head down on Bond's shoulder. In a soft voice, in deference to the hideous hangover Q must have, Bond spoke softly. “So how much of an idiot have I been?” 

“I've been looking for an opportunity for three months, ever since Marseilles.” Q whispered.

Bond cast his memory back. He'd woken up in medical, again. “You were there when I woke up,” Bond mused.

“I wanted to say something but I couldn't right there. And I couldn't see any way to get to a discussion. I've never been as direct as you are.” He said this shyly, and Bond found it amusing.

“You were very direct just now. Very nice to be wanted that much.” Bond kissed Q's temple and smiled against it. “I think it's still snowing out there. Doubt we'll make it to the conference with the roads being blocked.”

Q sighed and spoke, muffled against Bond's chest. “I doubt I could make sense of anything at the conference right now. How much did you let me drink?”

Bond just stopped himself from laughing out loud. “Let you? Sorry but I take no responsibility for the tequila. That was all on you. When I tried to take the bottle away, you told me that I should get my own. How is the head, by the way?”

Q looked up out of one somewhat bloodshot eye. “It's still on my shoulders. I do think the pills are starting to work though.” He closed both eyes for a moment. “Is Eve all right? She had a fair amount.”

Bond hugged him carefully. “She seemed to handle it better. I made sure she got to her room last night. I'm sure she'll be knocking at the door soon enough to check on you. We'll get some breakfast and see how bad the roads are.”

“Bugger that,” Q snapped back. “Breakfast, yes. But we can stay right here until the weather clears.”

This time Bond did laugh. “Bugger me instead. When your head feels better anyway.” Q looked at him and gaped, apparently at a loss for words. Bond decided words were unnecessary and kissed him again before closing his eyes.


End file.
